Smoke Screens
by Maxiekat
Summary: Jack and Kathy have been together for almost a year. Jack is plagued with nightmares, worried about losing Kathy and the first real happiness he's known. One shot sequel to Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk. COMPLETE


Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _Don't Look Back _by Kasey Anderson

**Smoke Screens**

_Stare into the dark long enough, something's bound to shine_

"I knew I'd find you up here." The wind threatened to steal Kathy's words and Jack barely heard them. He didn't turn around, preferring to look out over the quiet city than to see the worry in her eyes.

"Oh, you did, did you?" he asked softly, taking a drag off his cigarette, pulling the last little bit of smoke out of the butt before grinding it out on the top of the chest high brick wall he was leaning against. He fished out a second one out of the pack and had it lit before the smoke from the first had a chance to vanish in the crisp fall air.

"Yep." Even without looking at her, he could sense her grinning, picture the way her eyes crinkled at the corners. His lips quirked in response despite his dour mood. She continued, her voice as wry as ever, with that lightness he loved. "Psychic. One of my many hidden talents."

He laughed. "Another to add to the list."

"You have a list?"

He nodded. "Yep. Number one is that thing you do with your hips."

"Jack," she exclaimed, half scolding, half laughing. He looked over his shoulder just so he could capture that moment where embarrassment flushed her cheeks. She bit her lip and looked down for a second and his heart tripped like it always did when he caught those little moments.

"When you dance while doing the dishes," he finished with a wink. "Dirty mind."

"That's me – mind always in the gutter." She stepped up next to him, leaning against the wall just like he was, leaning a little over the ledge. It was a quiet night. Sure the city never slept, but even at three a.m. it had to rest a bit. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and he saw she had a second one with her, dragging on the ground. She noticed him noticing and without a word, held it out to him. Rolling his eyes, he grabbed it and laid it on top of the wall.

"It's cold," she said and he shrugged. "You could have at least grabbed a jacket."

To make her happy, he drew the blanket over his shoulders as begrudgingly as he could. Truth was, he hadn't noticed the cold until she mentioned it. He glanced down at his t-shirt and boxers. "Guess it's a good thing I put clothes on tonight, huh?"

"Would have given Horatio something to talk about." Kathy bent down and picked up her cat – the cat who alternated between adoring and hating Jack. Right now, he was glaring at him, so it looked like Horatio was going with "hate". Jack fought the urge to flip off the orange beast – even he had his limits and giving the cat the finger would be a new low. "You let him up here again," she scolded.

"I know I shut that door. He snuck up here."

Kathy grabbed the cat's leg and waved it in Jack's face. "See that. It's a paw. He has no thumbs. He can't open doors." Now the cat was looking longingly at Jack, pleading to be rescued.

"Sorry, dude, it's your own damn fault," Jack muttered under his breath.

"What?" Kathy said, narrowing her eyes.

"Huh?"

"You just talked to the cat."

"No I didn't."

"Yes you did."

"Whatever."

Kathy sighed, rubbing her chin on Horatio's head, scratching him behind the ears. She was pretending to have her full attention on the cat, but Jack could tell the wheels in her brain were turning. If he stopped breathing and concentrated really hard, he was convinced he could actually hear them. Finally she spoke.

"Why are you up here, Jack?" She bent down and let Horatio jump from her arms onto the ground. The cat ran off, chasing an imaginary mouse under the cheap lawn chairs Kathy had bought to spruce the place up a bit.

Jack shrugged. "No reason."

"Right." She pushed her hair out her eyes with one hand, gripping the blanket closed with the other. "Did you have another nightmare?"

He glanced up at the moon. It was a quarter full, a little more than a sliver, battling with the lights and buildings and visual noise of the city, hoping someone would notice it there, hanging in the canvas of black. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like – being up in that darkness looking down on everything, watching as life went on without him.

"Maybe," he answered.

"Bad?"

"Wouldn't be called a nightmare if it was good," he said with a twisted grin.

"Jack …" she scolded and he rubbed his eyes. He knew she meant well, but Kathy Price: World's Most Persistent Amateur Psychiatrist could sometimes be a bit much. He liked stewing in his pain and torment – it made him a good songwriter. Tortured artists were all the rage in the New York City coffee house and bar circuit. No one wanted a cheerful, well adjusted singer/songwriter singing ballads about rainbows and sunshine. They wanted dark and gloomy and deep – he savored the clouds, hung back in the shadows, the music just pouring out of him.

"That's the second one this week," she said.

Actually, it was the third, but he wasn't about to correct her. She reached out and rubbed his back like his mom used to do when he woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and crying out for help.

Kathy wanted to fix him, like he was a broken toy that needed a patch so that he would start working properly again. Evelyn had tried and Kathy was just as persistent. Sometimes, though, you'd gather all the broken parts, but one or two pieces would be missing and try as you might, you could never get it back together just perfectly. Almost, but not quite.

Well, lately, the patches had started to breakdown, stared to wear away with time and the damage beneath was exposed, plaguing him with nightmares and worries and all kinds of crap that left him paralyzed at night on the roof of Kathy's New York City apartment building.

They'd been together for almost a year and it was the longest relationship he'd ever been in. He still had trouble believing it was real – that he was with someone so grounded and normal and special. They'd been doing the whole long distance thing – him coming to visit in spurts, staying at her place, lining up a gig here or there. Lately, his visits had become more frequent and he was in New York more often than he was in Detroit. Last time he was home, Bobby asked him why he even bothered coming back and he realized he didn't have an answer for him. He didn't know if that realization thrilled him or terrified him.

"Want to tell me what it's about?"

_No._

"I don't remember," he lied. What was he supposed to tell her? He kept dreaming about losing her. She'd be just out of his grasp. There one minute and the next just … gone. It felt like when he was lying in the snow, when he watched his life and brothers slip away from him and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

She leaned against him, wrapping her arms around his waist, sharing her warmth. "Come back to bed."

He rested his chin on top of her head. "If you insist," he said, trying to smile and wipe the memories of that nightmare out of his head.

"I do. Grab the cat."

XxXxXxXxXx

"I'm going to be late."

"What?" Jack had to yell over the crowd in the bar, trying to hear over the noise. It would help if his cell phone wasn't a piece of shit, but at that moment, a piece of shit was all he could afford.

"Late!" Kathy yelled on the other end. "I'm going to be late."

"Again?"

"I know. I'm sorry." Jack felt her frustration through the crappy connection. Her job at the paper put her as low man on the totem pole and that also meant she had the worst hours out of anyone else working there. She made a tenth of the money, but worked at least twice as much.

"I go on in …" He glanced at his watch. "Half an hour. They moved me up."

"No," she practically whined. "I'm going to miss it then. Stupid pointless job."

"Stupid pointless job you love."

"Will love," she corrected him, "in approximately two years when they trust me to write something other than obituaries and paraphrased press releases."

"I'll meet you half way on the way home and we'll grab coffee. I'll strum my guitar as you eat your triple chocolate muffin and it'll be like you never missed it."

"Promise?"

"Promise." He crossed his heart even though she couldn't see. "Just crossed my heart. That's some hard core shit there, Kath."

XxXxXxXxXx

Jack had the chorus of a Tom Waits' song running through his head as he loped down the street, his shoulders hunched in his jacket in a vain attempt to get warm. He never could figure out what the weather in October was supposed to be like and therefore dressed the way he dressed for everything – inappropriately. The cold shot straight to his knee and he was limping slightly, but he barely noticed as his guitar case banged against his good leg, keeping time with the song he couldn't shake.

He rounded the corner and slammed right into the middle of his nightmare.

"Let me go! I gave you my bag, please just let me go!"

Jack froze in his tracks.

A guy turned slowly. Hockey mask. Gun. Red. Pain.

Jack gasped, dropping his guitar case and gripping his shoulder, afraid to look down and see the blood again. He blinked and the image vanished, replaced by Kathy and some thug who had slammed her up against a brick wall. The creep had a knife in one hand and he was taunting her with it, running it across her cheek as she tried to squirm away from him.

"No!" she screamed and Jack broke out of his trance, running up behind the guy and tearing him away from her.

The guy jumped to his feet, swinging the knife and laughing. "Want to play hero?"

"Fuck you," Jack said with a right hook. He caught the guy on the chin, a satisfying crack sounding across the empty street corner. He swung with his left fist before the guy could recover enough to do any damage, just like Bobby had taught him. The mugger fell to the ground and Jack kicked his knife away.

Sirens were echoing down the street and Jack hoped that meant someone had called the cops. He was took a step toward Kathy, wanting to reassure himself that she was okay, forgetting one of Bobby's most important rules: Never forget that there's almost always a second guy.

He hit the ground before he'd even realized something had smashed into the back of his head. Then there was just darkness.

XxXxXxXxXx

Kathy's face was flashing red and blue when Jack opened his eyes. He shut them again, certain his brain was permanently scrambled.

"Jack," she said worriedly and he groaned, slowly opening his eyes again. Kathy was still there, a worried expression on her face as she chewed on her bottom lip.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice hoarse. He sat up carefully, testing his body for any broken bones or new bullet holes he wasn't aware of.

"Easy sir," a brusque male voice said next to him and he realized they weren't alone. A couple of paramedics were kneeling next to them, sitting their equipment on the sidewalk. A cluster of cops were standing a few feet away, hovering over the guy Jack had knocked out. He was still lying on the sidewalk, very much awake and very much handcuffed and pissed off. He had no idea where the second guy was – probably half way to Jersey by that point.

Jack looked back at Kathy. "You didn't answer me. Are you okay?"

She sighed. "You're the one who got hit on the head. I should be asking you."

At that, Jack touched the back of his head, grimacing as he came into contact with a goose egg sized lump. His hand was sticky with blood and Kathy blanched when she saw it.

"You should lie down," she said in a rush. "Shouldn't he be lying down, Mr. Paramedic? Jack, I really think you should be lying down."

"I'm fine."

"You're bleeding."

"I know."

"Jack –" she started, but the paramedic started checking over Jack and Kathy stopped persisting. Jack winced as the guy flashed a penlight in his eyes. He took his pulse and did all that stuff paramedics do when you get knocked out on the street corner. He hated every second of it.

"Doesn't look too bad. Maybe a concussion. They'll check you both out at the hospital and probably send you home." The paramedic was packing up his equipment with efficient, but weary movements.

"Check us both out?" Jack felt his stomach drop and he realized Kathy was holding her arm strangely, like she was afraid to move it.

"It's nothing," Kathy said as the second paramedic, an African American woman, repeated the routine Jack just went through.

"Need to get that wrist looked at, honey," she said gently but with enough authority that Jack knew there was no way they were going to get out of having to take a ride in the back of an ambulance.

"How did you hurt your wrist?" he asked, suddenly wishing he could get a couple of minutes alone with the creep who started all this.

Kathy took a deep breath and the rambling began. "I didn't know what to do. I was scared. One second you were standing there and the next you were on the ground and I didn't know what to think. I mean it could have been anything, like a sniper or something and then I realized there was a new bad guy. I mean, he totally came out of nowhere, which I guess is why you didn't know he was behind you until he hit you so I kind of … um … I punched him."

Jack's mouth dropped open. "What?"

"He hurt you."

"You don't hit the guy. You run. You get help. You don't put yourself in danger." He felt his chest tighten and it hurt to draw air into his lungs. Fuck, he was going to have a full fledged panic attack in front of half of New York. "Jesus, what were you thinking?"

He knew the minute the words were out of his mouth that he'd fucked things up. She looked at him like he'd taken a swing at her and he might as well have.

"I'm sorry, Kathy. I didn't …" he started but faltered.

"I know," she whispered but didn't look him in the eye as the woman helped her up and led her over to the ambulance. Jack felt like such a piece of shit that he didn't even have it in him to protest when they made him get strapped to a gurney for the ride to the hospital. He was just hoping for some good painkillers to numb his head and stop his heart from twisting in his chest like it was going to break into a dozen pieces.

XxXxXxXx

The sky was brightening up. Still dark, but with a tinge of light purple whispering at the edges. The wrought iron bars of the fire escape were cool against Jack's forehead as he leaned against them, watching the sun slowly rise. He was beat, but past the point of sleep. So exhausted that his body didn't know what to do and complete stillness and contemplation were his best options.

"Room out there for two?" Kathy pulled herself through the open window before he had a chance to answer. She sat down next to him. She was in her pink flannel pajamas that were covered in cartoon cats, a matching pink cast on her wrist. She'd broken it and he felt a sledgehammer of guilt slam into his stomach with every glimpse he caught of that cheerful pink cast.

He'd lucked out with a mild concussion that rivaled his best hangovers and ten stitches in the back of his head. They made quite the pair.

"Long night," she said. He could tell she wanted to talk, but he couldn't even figure out just what was eating away at him beyond the obvious.

She held her arm out and twisted it back and forth, studying the cast. "You need to teach me how to box."

He shook his head. "Nah. You need Bobby. He taught me."

"Right. Bobby would love that." She laughed and scooted closer to him, her hip touching his. "He likes me almost as much as he likes Sofi. He makes fun of me."

"That means he thinks of you as family – if he ignored you, then you'd be in trouble." Jack ran a finger over the grate they were sitting on, tracing the pattern over and over again. "He's gonna kick my ass when he finds out I screwed up and got you hurt."

"You didn't screw up. You were so brave – you ran right up and punched that guy." She jabbed at the air to demonstrate. "He was seriously passed out on the street and -"

"I fucked up." Jack cut her off. He could tell she wanted to keep going, but she leaned against him instead, her head on his shoulder.

They sat there in silence, staring out over the city. The sky was starting to turn orange and pink. There were still stars out, but they were dimmer against the lighter blue, harder to make out. The roads were filling up, the sidewalks growing more crowded by the second, a sea of people in practical black and grey suits. Jack never really gave much thought to the morning – most people were usually on their third cup of coffee by the time he rolled out of bed.

He wasn't sure what triggered it, but one minute he was pondering the sunrise and the next he was spilling his heart out.

"When I was a kid, I was so used to having nothing that the few things I did have, I held onto like my life depended on them." He stared straight ahead, not pausing to take a breath. "There was one house where one of the other foster kids – a shithead named Stan – would steal your toothbrush and do all kinds of fucked up shit with it. After that, I became obsessed with hiding my toothbrush wherever I was staying – foster homes, group homes, wherever. I don't know what it was about that toothbrush, but it was mine and if I could keep it safe than that meant that everything was going to be okay."

"Are you comparing me to your toothbrush?" Kathy asked and he knew she was trying to keep things from getting too heavy.

He looked at her, his expression dead serious. It took everything he had not to break into a grin. "It meant a lot to me."

"Oh. Well then, that's okay." She laughed, but he could see that her eyes were red behind her glasses, that she was holding back tears. "So I'm your toothbrush?"

"Yeah," he said with a nod.

"And you're afraid of …"

"Losing you? I guess. I don't know."

"Or having some creep named Stan scrub the toilet with me?"

"Pretty much."

Kathy took his hand in hers and laced their fingers together. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I know."

"I love you."

He brushed her hair back from her face and gently kissed her forehead. "I love you too."

"Is that what the nightmares are about?"

He nodded.

"Is there a way to make them go away?"

He squeezed her hand. "This helps."

"Good." She tilted her head up and smiled – screw the sun, Kathy was all the light he needed.


End file.
